Why?
by lilycx
Summary: How would Morty react if Rick actually killed himself in S2E3? This is an AU of that episode. Trigger warning: suicide.


**A/N: hey! It's me again. So I've been really into Rick and Morty lately I really wanted to write a fic of it. And of course, it's dark coz I like that. There's some trigger warnings, again, as it has suicide and a little bit of gore I guess? It's really not much but idk I'll still put it as a warning. Hope you enjoy it if anyone actually reads this and I hope you'll even review it and give me some critisism, what was good what was bad, yano the normal stuff. But please do, it means a lot, no matter what you put. **

Morty always understood that your day could change in the blink of an eye. One minute, he was sat watching Ball Fondlers, the next he was being dragged into a portal to blast alien monsters to pieces. Simple as that. From the many random adventures he had been on with his grandpa Rick he had been taught to expect the unexpected and go with whatever happened. But nothing could prepare him for this day. This one day he wished could repeat just once so he could make it never happen. Or at least move to another of the millions of alternate universes where it was normal. But he couldn't, and he knew that.

Morty was bored. It had been a pretty uneventful last few days, surprisingly. The last adventure had been with Rick and Summer, and nothing really happened. Well, compared to normal adventures, anyways. Morty and Summer had spent it doing nothing, really. But Rick spent his time with his ex-lover sort of thing, Morty still couldn't bend his mind around it all, called Unity. And now they were back home. Morty sighed. He decided he wanted to do something, anything, other than sit here by himself doing nothing at all.

Itching to be productive, Morty stood up and sauntered over to the garage, where his Grandpa should be. The metal door pushed open slowly as he gave it a nudge and slipped inside, turning to close the door.

"Hey, Rick," A yawn escaped his mouth as he hopped up onto the counter. "What are y-" His throat closed up at the sight before him, eyes bulging out his sockets. His breath came out hitched and uneven, feeling like he was being strangled, invisible fingers squeezing his throat shut. All that escaped his lips were choked cries, filled with shock and anguish, the only sound that filled the lifeless garage.

He didn't want to look, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the horrific scene in front of him. He was forced to stare at the sight that would haunt him until he dies, never to escape his mind ever. His turning point in life, the thing that would change him forever. From that moment he knew he'd never be the same, and nothing could have ever prepared him for it.

In front of him, he saw his Grandpa, slumped over his work desk, head blown apart. Red. He could see red staining everything: his grandfather's clothes, work, wall, floor. Everywhere. Red. Morty could see the weapon over his grandpa's head, a huge gun that looks like it was made for shooting rays at things. Morty knew what it was. It was made for obliterating things. He's seen it work before. But on his own grandfather… he never imagined that.

The thoughts came first. They rushed though his mind, irrational and crazed. They drowned out anything else in his mind, almost pushing him to his knees. Everything swam as the voices in his head grew louder, vision growing fuzzy and dark around the edges, like he was seeing though a tunnel, but the end led to his worst nightmares. A choked cry escaped his lips as he dropped to his knees, hands flying up to his face. The scene in front became blurry and hazed. Morty was almost glad the tears came, disabling him from seeing his mutilated grandfather. His Grandfather. Rick was so much more than his grandpa. He was his only friend, his only happiness. The only person that ever showed him love and care. The person to show him the world, the universe and more. The person to stop him from giving up, stop him from losing hope in the world. His rock, his hero. His grandpa.

And he was gone.

A scream filled the house. A scream that was so filled with sorrow and grief, a scream that curdled blood and made your heart shatter into billions of tiny pieces. He screamed until his throat grew hoarse and tight. Burning tears poured down his face, a waterfall of misery carving scars on his cheeks. A constant wail flew out his mouth, cracked and hollow. He faded into silence, nothing but an overwhelming ocean of drained emptiness flooded his mind and body. Morty collapsed onto the cold floor, curling up into a ball and just stayed there, wishing he were somewhere else.

It was all a blur, like he was watching a film or TV show while it was being fast forward, yet it all went in slow motion. He was in a haze through it all, a coma-like state, like he was sleepwalking through a nightmare. Remembering a dream after you woke up.

The zombie-like state stopped after the funeral. He was sat at home, in his room, alone. Morty became suddenly aware of what actually happened. He'll never go on an adventure again. He'll never travel through Space to strange planets again. He'll never hear his Grandfather's voice, mocking him or bragging his intelligence again. He'll never see his crazed, grey-blue hair, never have to get up in the middle of the night for him, never meet a person like him again. He'll never see Rick again. And there was nothing that could have prepared him for that.


End file.
